Monday, 7 September 2009
I was devastated this morning to discover that the family car of 21 years - only one year younger than me - has been written off in a very sad accident.
Thankfully my father wasn't hurt in the smash - which is the main thing, given what happened. He'd swerved to avoid a car driving on the wrong side of the road, down Rectory Lane in Foots Cray, happily missing the speeding vehicle but hitting a lamppost on the passengers side.
I've been driving this car around the country for the last five months, and it's been such a pleasure to do so. My mum gave me her keys the day after I passed the test (she now drives its younger, bigger sister, an XC90), and I never looked back.
139,577 miles on the clock and it seems, no more.
I know why I'm so cut up about it - this car has taken us on so many holidays across Europe, to sunny places like Spain, to friends in Munster in Germany, to family in Laval, France, across the length and breadth of Great Britain (literally), and to, as far as I can count off the top of my head, 62 preserved railway lines in England alone - the first one being Llangollen in Wales in 1994, where I've found a photo of the big red car sitting behind the fence opposite the big green one - Flying Scotsman. I'll have that blown up and framed I think.
I don't think I'd be as cut up about this car if it hadn't shared in so many adventures, year to year. It's been an incredible car for us, kept us so safe and so secure for so long, and to think that it'll be off to the breaker's yard at the end of the week is literally heart breaking.
How very British in some ways - getting misty eyed and sad about an old, clapped out estate car. I wouldn't have it any other way.
Thanks for the memories, Very Big Motor.
Until next time.